At Odds
by DeLyse
Summary: Faendal was kind enough to accompany a very talkative girl on her way to see the Jarl of Whiterun, but she turns out to be quite a handful for the Bosmer. Will he ever be able to actually get rid of her? Will she ever learn to shut up for one second? Written for Skyrim Kink Meme. Lemons in later chapters.
1. Part I

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim.**_

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_**A/N:**__ This was written for a prompt over at Skyrim Kink Meme. Just a warning, there will be lemons at the end._

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At Odds  
Part I

"We're nearly there," Faendal announced as he and the girl rounded the hill. Just ahead, he could see the meadery and the other farms, and beyond that on the hill watching out over the area was the hold of Whiterun itself.

The girl sighed. "Ugh, thank the Divines…"

Thank the Divines, indeed. Faendal had never met a girl who could talk as much as Ambriana had, and though he didn't consider himself a shrewd mer, he could not wait to be rid of her. The walk from Riverwood to Whiterun was a four-hour trek. The girl did not stop talking, not once. Not even when a small pack of wolves jumped out at them (most likely lead by the sound of her nonstop chatter).

"I can't wait to _sleep_," she continued, loosening the straps on her pack a little so that she could roll her shoulders. "I can't recall the last time I actually slept. Being knocked out cold in a wagon doesn't count, does it?"

True, the girl had looked a bit road weary, on top of being frightened, shocked, and excited, when she first came into Riverwood following Gerdur's brother, Ralof. Or was it Rolaf? He could never get these Nord names right…

"I wonder if they have sweetrolls at the Inn… They would have to, right? I mean, Whiterun isn't just a little _village_… Have you ever had sweetrolls? My grandmother used to make the most scrumptious little sweetrolls you've ever tasted – warm and soft and gooey, just _begging_ to be ravaged."

Faendal had learned during the first hour of the journey that he didn't have to answer her whenever she asked a question. He started first by giving her truly thought-out sentences, and then lessened his replies to a simple one-word response, and then on to mumbled versions of one-word responses, until finally he simply quit saying anything all together.

And _still_, she went on talking…

"A meadery! What a quaint little building. I wonder if they have better prices than the Inn? I'll have to bring it to their attention if that's the case. I won't be cheated out of _my_ gold just because I'm a foreigner. You know, we used to have a family servant whose sole duty was to make sure the – _ouch_! Oh my _word_, what did I just _step_ in?"

He turned when he heard her stop and watched her balance unsteadily on one foot while she brought the other up to inspect her slipper. Every now and then, she would do something like this, something completely against her Breton nature; something that made her seem more like a girl and less like a High Rock snob – which she would admit to being in a heart's beat, and proudly so. He caught himself before he could smile and approached with a practiced calm.

"Oh, thank the Nine it isn't dung… What does that look like to you?" she asked, looking up at him from a straight black curtain of hair that refused to let her see him properly. In place of her babbling came a quiet concern that, after hours of hearing nothing but her voice, somehow unsettled him now.

He kneeled on one knee and allowed her to place her free hand on his shoulder for better balance while he took her foot in his hand. A tiny thorn was partway embedded into the arch of her soft shoe.

"What is it? Is it poisonous?"

Her total seriousness baffled the Bosmer. Did this girl really not know what a thorn looked like?

"Hold still," Faendal said, and he plucked the thorn from her shoe. He almost couldn't believe she was traveling in such thin footwear, or that she had made it this far in them. "You'll be fine. See?"

He held it up, pinched carefully between forefinger and thumb. She curled her hair behind her ears and inspected the tiny cause of her momentary distress with disdain. "Looks like a little brown claw from an animal."

"It's a thorn." He tossed it and stood. "Come on. We're nearly there."

"Are you sure it isn't poisonous?" she asked, straightening herself with a frown. "I feel a bit light-headed…"

"I've spent more years of my life around woods than you have around…wherever you're from." He cast a sideways glance at her. "It was a common thorn. You'll be fine. Let's go."

Ambriana straightened out her dress and tilted her chin up, taking on the air of one who was rarely wrong, reminding the wood elf all over again why he was supposed to stop talking and keep moving forward. "Well," she huffed, skipping a bit to catch up to his moderate stride, "no need to get haughty." Her ice-blue eyes had fire in them now.

Were all human women this insufferably fickle with their emotions, or was it just Breton women? Working with Gerdur, a strong Nord woman (weren't they all strong, though?), he had never been exposed to any of what he was experiencing now. Gerdur was tall, kind, and very much independent, but she treated her husband with equal respect. And Colette… She was Imperial. Very sweet, very perceptive…except, of course, when it came to men. Like Sven…

And best of all, both women mentioned knew what a thorn was when they saw one.

"I'm not just paying you for the safety of my arrival to Whiterun. Courtesy was included in the price."

"Yes, and on that note, you said we'd talk about payment once we reached the hold."

There was a beat of hesitation in both her step and her response. "Er, well, yes… I said we would discuss it once we reached the hold. We are not yet _at_ the hold." She darted her piercing gaze all about them for a moment before adding, "There could be bandits or thieves about. It isn't wise to speak of gold when there could be all manner of brigands and ruffians around. You should know that."

_Yes_, he thought. _As opposed to speaking of money in a city where there actually _are_ thieves and brigands about…_

"It's all right, though. I understand how you wouldn't know. After all, you're a woodsman, not a traveler. There are all manner of bandits along many of the roads back home – _ack_! Oh by the Eight Divines…"

He stopped again and turned to see the look of pure horror on her fair face. This time, he couldn't stop the smile that came.

"Now _that_ is definitely dung."

The two made their way through fairly busy streets, Ambriana hopping on one foot, the other foot bare, with a slipper pinched between two fingers and her other hand on Faendal's shoulder, effectively using him as a crutch. He had tried to be a gentleman and offered to carry her, but the girl was most disagreeable. What a surprise.

They asked around until they were pointed in the direction of the general store, found at the hold's market in the Plains District, dead ahead. As they entered the area, they seemed to exit one world and step into another as the last traces of smoke and tempered iron were left behind for that of food and firewood. On their left, a rather pretty woman was behind a produce stand looking rather annoyed with the man leaning on the counter across from her, whom was suggestively waggling his frighteningly thick eyebrows at her. Two more stands were set ahead of them, one run by a fellow Bosmer with fresh cuts of meat and hides for sale, and the other glittering with shiny baubles and trinkets, run by an old graying woman.

To their right were two buildings: a potion store of sorts, and Belethor's General Store. Ambriana had been fuming silently during her hop along side Faendal to the market district until she now set eyes upon the sign that hung above the store.

"Ah, good. Let's get inside, my leg is starting to cramp."

Faendal held the door for her while she hopped inside. A fire pit blazed to their left. A stuffed deer head was placed on a plaque above it. One glance at the store's owner told Faendal that the man did not hunt that deer himself and probably bought it to impress. Another man, younger than the owner, idly swept the floor on their right.

"Welcome!" Belethor boomed. "Everything's for sale, my friend. Everything!" He waved a hand around for emphasis, then slapped it down on the counter to add conspiratorially: "If I had a sister, I'd sell her in a second!"

"You there, sir." Ambriana hopped to the counter, trying to hide the look of discomfort from showing in her face. "I'd like to purchase shoes from you. New ones."

"Now you, my friend, are in the right place!" Belethor leaned down and began digging around beneath the counter.

"I don't suppose you have anything of silk, or of the latest in fashion, do you?" she asked, leaning over the counter to watch him rummage. "Or does Skyrim even have their own fashions?"

Belethor brought out a pair of fine hide boots first, and placed beside them ones made of fur, and then two pairs of common shoes. He sighed in a satisfied way and placed his meaty hands on the edge of the counter, waiting with a smile; waiting for her gold.

Faendal watched her eyes go over each one, her thin brows drawing inward more and more as her gaze stopped at each pair.

"I can't buy these." She looked up. "None of these will do."

"Are you saying there's something wrong with my product? Here, look–" he picked up one of the hide boots and bent the foot of it back and forth "–brand new! Great traveling boots."

"Not with _this_ dress."

"Well, here – these shoes are just fine," he said, replacing the boot in his hand with one of the shoes. "Clean, only been worn once."

"Those aren't even _lady's_ shoes!"

"I have it," Faendal interrupted, moving Ambriana aside and simultaneously pulling out his coin purse. "The hide boots, and an extra gold for your trouble."

"_Trouble_? What trouble? I ask for shoes, _new_ shoes, and what does he show me? Boots! And the shoes are _disgustingly _last era –"

"—You are making a _fool_ of yourself."

Her voice died in the back of her throat at the look Faendal gave her when he said this. She looked around to see the young man whom had been sweeping staring at her now, half confused, half amused, and a customer standing in the doorway who didn't look so sure she wanted to be there anymore.

Faendal paid for the boots and thanked Belethor, whom asked him to please not bring that girl back without a leash, to which Ambriana scowled at but dared not say anything that would embarrass her further. He left without waiting for her; didn't even hold the door open this time. This girl was becoming more trouble than what she was worth.

When she came out, he handed her the boots without looking at her. She took them from him and hopped over to the well in the center of the market area, either unaware of the looks she was getting, or ignoring them all together, and sat down on the edge of it. Once she had her new footwear on, she approached Faendal with a stubborn frown. "Come. Let's find the keep, and then maybe we can find a decent inn in this skeever-hole of a city…"

But as she started off, the Bosmer did not move. Ambriana turned and waited for him. He did not budge. He didn't even blink.

"Come, Faendal. Do you not wish to get paid?"

"The agreement was that I get you here safely," he said. "Job done. I'll take the full payment now and be on my way."

She was stunned. Truly and utterly shocked.

Faendal sighed. "You don't have it, do you? You have nothing."

He knew it. He knew it all along. Oh, why on Tamriel did he even agree to this? Something in his gut told him not to trust the girl – but really, how much trouble could one young woman get into?

"I-I _do_," she replied, anger and hurt lacing her voice. "How can you say that? I just thought maybe you'd wish to accompany me to the keep... This city is a dangerous place – you wouldn't just _leave_ me here, would you?"

"Do _not_ push my charity."

"Please, Faendal, I'm… I'm alone… This wasn't supposed to happen – _none_ of it was." There were tears in her eyes as the genuine fear in her voice surfaced. "I am alone in a foreign country, one that tries to behead me no sooner do I step foot across! I didn't ask for any of this. _Twice_ I was sure I would die, and now I'm a wanted fugitive all because some idiot Imperials refused to look at my papers!"

"Ambriana!" he shouted, eying the guards nearby.

She jumped back, and then slowly, her face contorted into hurt.

"…W-Why are you—" she took a shuttering breath "—why are you _yelling_ at me…?"

"Shh… Please, don't do this here…"

So many eyes were on them now – on _him_. The woman at the produce stand was glaring jagged ice shards at him; the look of a woman whom had been hurt before by a man, and wasn't going to stand by and let a man do the same to another woman. He took Ambriana's wrist, meaning to pull her away from the crowd so that they could speak in private, but she instantly jerked away from him and balled her fists to her chest.

"No, it's okay – you can have your stupid _gold_," she spat.

"Is…everything all right?" one of the town guards asked, his Nord accent as heavy as the sound of his steel boots approaching.

"Yes, yes, everything is fine," Faendal quickly said. "Just a minor disagreement." He turned to Ambriana. "Come on then, we should get to the keep. Come on."

She stared quietly at him for a moment, interrupted only by her jagged breathing. "No. You know what? It's fine. I'm a big girl." She took off her pack and began delving around inside, stopping once to wipe her face with the back of her sleeve. "I asked you to get me here, and you did."

He knelt down and placed a hand on hers to still her. "I'm sorry. I failed to take into account exactly what has happened to you, and how big of a task you've been given." He offered her a smile. "Speaking with the Jarl is of the utmost importance. If we don't speak to him in time, there could be no Riverwood left for me to go back to… So come on. Up with you."

He helped her to her feet and presented to her his handkerchief. She accepted it, looked at it, and then looked all around her at the people watching them. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red than they were before.

"I can't stand before the Jarl looking like _this_!"

Faendal sighed. There was just no right way with her, was there?

Thankfully, after asking around again, they were directed to a place where Ambriana could wash up – the chapel area, where water flowed beside them through channels in the ground. A small fountain to the side produced fresh water, which Ambriana had insisted he taste and test before she would go near it. ("My family has escaped many death attempts by poison – weren't you listening? I told you this before, while we were walking…) She had him wait for at least twenty minutes before she felt herself presentable enough to go on.

They made their way up more stone steps to the keep in the Cloud District. The guards allowed them entry upon mention of the dragon, and of Ambriana being one of two known survivors of the Helgen incident. Welcomed warmth washed over them as the doors were opened, and both stepped through the threshold to see a Dunmer approached them with such dominance in her stride, Faendal almost thought she would draw her weapon on them.

"What is the meaning of this interruption?"

Ambriana pursed her lips and set her face, instantly transformed from the whining, fickle, emotional girl full great fear hidden behind a thin veil of attitude, to the young, confident woman bred and raised noble, ready to talk her way in or out of anything. The way she switched from little girl, to snob, to aristocrat was fascinating; it reminded Faendal of a warrior switching weapon stances.

On the other hand, Faendal was beginning to feel he had been played…

"I am here to speak with Jarl Balgruuf on a matter of the upmost importance."

The battle-hardened Dunmer's mood seemed to darken. "The Jarl isn't accepting any visitors for the moment. Much less those whom show up unannounced." Her deep crimson eyes switched to Faendal for answers, but Ambriana was quick to steal attention to herself once more.

"I was at Helgen during the dragon attack. I was told to come see the Jarl straight away, and that I would receive recompense."

Faendal could not help the flinch he made at that last word, but the dark elf didn't seem to notice. Instead, her blood-red eyes were solely on the human, searching her face in near disbelief.

"Well, then," she said slowly. "That would explain why the guards let you in. Show me your weapons."

Both he and Ambriana drew their weapons and handed them over to the housecarl. She inspected them thoroughly, first Ambriana's small, steel dagger, then Faendal's axe, and finally his arrows. He assumed she was checking for poisons and absently wondered how many assassination attempts on the Jarl this woman alone had stopped. Ambriana stayed still and silent – something Faendal had never thought possible of the girl before now.

When the Dunmer was finished, she handed their weapons back to them and beckoned them to follow her. "Come now. The Jarl will want to speak with you personally."

They followed the housecarl up a short set of steps to a dining hall of sorts. Long tables were on either side of them, with a fire pit in the center. The interior was predominately wood, sparsely decorated. The ceiling was tall, the room was wide, and all of the empty space made Faendal feel vulnerable. He supposed it was perfect to suit a Nord's tastes, though.

He and the Breton were made to wait by the fire pit as the Dunmer went to the Jarl's side to speak with him in hushed tones. Faendal took this opportunity to warm his hands.

"Ambriana…"

She kept her back straight and her face forward, but her light eyes rolled toward his direction.

"I don't recall Gerdur ever saying anything about a reward for coming to the Jarl—"

"—_Hush_."

Faendal looked around her to see the Jarl watching them from his throne of sorts while the Dunmer finished up what she had to say to him.

"We'll discuss this later," he said, and he meant it. It was all coming together now – the reason why she wanted to wait to pay him. The elf was not one to get aggressive about his beliefs too often, but this was stealing. _Stealing_. From a _Jarl_. Had the girl completely lost her mind? What if they saw through her ruse? How much cell time would he be looking at for being an unwilling accomplice?

"You may come forward," the dark elf announced.

Ambriana regally took the lead, the very picture of poise, and stopped respectfully at the bottom of the short steps before the Jarl. From the look on his face, he seemed to be wondering what a young woman of her stature could possibly have to tell him about dragons and…rumors of dragons.

"So," he began, his voice strong, but not overbearing. Not yet. "You were at Helgen. You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

"I did," Ambriana answered, but there was something harsh, something venomous in her tone now. A hint of her temper. Faendal felt the blood leave his face. Was she really going to snap in front of the Jarl of Whiterun? What in Oblivion had he gotten himself into, _really_?

She continued in the same tone, "I had a splendid view of it all while the Imperials were just about to separate my head from my shoulders."

Jarl Balgruuf hesitated before he responded. She had caught him off guard a bit. Was that her intention, or was she playing with fire?

"Really?" His great, gray brows rose as he said this. "You certainly are…forthcoming about your criminal past."

"I am no criminal, my Jarl," she said, rounding off the harshness with a bit of innocence to her voice. "I was crossing into Skyrim from Cyrodiil. I had all the proper papers. Those Imperials completely ignored this, and then had the gull to say that we were in league with the Stormcloaks because we happened to be near them. I have been wronged, my lord."

"Ulfric…" Balgruuf the Greater tightened his fist. "I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this." He rubbed at his left temple a moment, and then continued. "It is none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute, young one. Especially now."

"But my lord—"

He held up a hand, and Ambriana silenced at once. Again, Faendal was impressed.

"What I want to know is…what exactly happened at Helgen?"

Ambriana waited a few seconds before speaking – her way of respectfully letting the Jarl know that she was quite displeased with his unwillingness to hear her defense. "The Imperials had us lined up for the block. They had Ulfric Stormcloak in line to be executed, but a dragon came down from over the mountains and began setting fire to everything and everyone in it's path. It was intent on killing us all."

"And how did you escape?"

Faendal noted the way the dark elf, whom had been still beside the Jarl's side during the conversation, leaned a smidge closer to hear the story.

"By sheer luck, Jarl. I was rescued by a Stormcloak, one of Ulfric's bodyguards, and together we escaped through the dungeons and tunnels beneath the town."

An eerie blanket of silence fell over the enormous room and everyone in it as the last of her words settled in their minds. Even Faendal was pondering on the matter. During the four-hour hike to the hold, she had not gone into detail about what had happened. Or rather, if she had, he had failed to hear it. Honestly, the girl talked far too much to be able to pay attention to _everything_ she told him…

The Jarl of Whiterun turned to his right, where a man in fine clothing had been standing quietly by, and said, "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

"My Lord," the Dunmer said, standing to face them both. "We should send troops to Riverwood at once. It is in the most immediate danger, and if that dragon is still lurking in the mountains…"

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation," Proventus countered. "He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We should not –"

"ENOUGH!"

Both Proventus and the dark elf fell silent.

"I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people," he said to Proventus, and then, to Dunmer: "Irileth. Send a detatchment to Riverwood at once."

She nodded. "Yes, my Jarl."


	2. Part II

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim.**_

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At Odds  
Part II

Ambriana walked into the Bannered Mare first, and was not at all impressed.

_Wonderful…just wonderful… Not that I expected anything upscale, but why must the only inn in the city be so...so…insufferably Nord?_

Faendal pushed past her and grabbed the leather strap of her bag that lie lax in her palm. "Come on, let's get that room you wanted."

She could tell he was worried about her ever since they left the keep. He had tried and failed several times to strike up conversation with her on the way down the stone steps, leaving the Cloud District behind for the Plains District market place. His movements seemed antsy now as he tried to take care of everything so that she wouldn't have to. It was cute, really. Reminded her of a stable boy who used to be sweet on her back home. Unfortunately for him, she despised people that acted weak around her, and despite appreciating the special treatment, she especially hated it when people acted as though _she_ were weak.

However, in this case, she decided that she needed the pampering, to be worried over and cared for, even if it was just because the other person wanted to avoid a scene. She didn't feel much like dealing with anymore Nords for the night, in any case.

She watched from the entryway, the door shut tight to the cold behind her, as elfboy (as she had taken to calling him in her head) paid for the room and cast a glance back at her, giving her a nod to come and follow him. She joined up behind him as the woman behind the bar directed them up a set of wooden steps in the back.

"Your room is just up there. If you need anything, let me know," she told them, and then left them to tend to the other drunken patrons at the bar who were flagging her back over. Faendal lead them up the steps, through the door, and into the room.

Ambriana was actually surprised at how nice of a room they got. She wondered if this was just like the other rooms, or if elfboy had to pay extra for it. Granted, it was rather plain… No lavish lace, no silks and polished pottery…only a pitiful wreath on the wall. But it was comfy. By Nord standards, it was probably an amazing room. In any case, it gave her an inkling of hope for a good night's sleep, as the bed was an actual bed – not a haphazard straw substandard bed – and the sheets appeared to be clean and soft.

"You may have the bed," Faendal announced, placing her bag on the floor by the nightstand.

"Well, of course. Did you expect me to take the floor?"

He gave her a frown, but thankfully left it at that. Honestly, though, did he _really_ expect her to sleep anywhere else?

She sighed softly. She knew she was being too harsh – couldn't help it, but at least she knew she was. Most of her aggravation was not with him, though, and she felt it was not right that he deserve it. This time.

"Forgive me." She caught his shiny black eyes and lifted her chin. "It has been a long, never-ending day and… I wish only to sleep everything away. Tomorrow, we will make our way to the general store for a more appropriate traveling attire, and then begin our journey toward the Barrow."

"No…" Faendal dropped his head and placed a hand on the back of his neck. "I can't come with you. I'm sorry. I really do need to get back to Riverwood; back to my life."

Her temper did spark, but she was much too exhausted for it to roar to life. She had spent so much energy trying not to disrespect the Jarl's court wizard that she just didn't have it in her to get worked up over anything else. Perhaps tomorrow, but not now.

"Fine. Whatever you will."

She could see that he wanted to defend himself further, but left the room before he could begin.

Ambriana found herself on a balcony of sorts that looked out over the rest of the inn's main floor. It was nice up here. There were two chairs, a table with food spread out over it, and plates to dig in, if one were so inclined. The mage opted to stand over the ledge, instead.

She watched the bar patrons from her perch above, leaned over, with her arms folded across the banister and her chin nuzzled in the crook of her elbow. She was tired. Frustrated. The little girl in her wanted only to hide her face and cry…but the Breton woman in her was appalled, even _angered_, at the thought of such weakness. She had already lost control once today, in front of the wood elf…she did not wish to show that side to anyone else for a long while. Or ever again, if she could help it.

"You should get some sleep," Faendal said from somewhere in the room behind her. She ignored him, let her thoughts be absorbed by the sounds of the music and merriment below.

It did nothing to help.

With a grumble, she thought back to her encounter with Jarl Balgruuf. The man was crafty; much craftier than she had anticipated. She had been backed into a corner. Either take the deal and do whatever task he asked of her so that her name might be cleared, or decline and live in constant fear of Imperial soldiers. It didn't seem to be the crime of crossing the border that made it so bad, but the fact that she was captured with Stormcloaks. And not just with any Stormcloaks, but with Ulfric Stormcloak _himself_ and his own personal body guards.

Jarl Balgruuf had her by the…well, if she had that particular male anatomy, that's what he had her by. If she had declined, he could have easily replaced her with someone more than willing to do it for Whiterun and for her people, with no strings attached. She had just happened to be the closest one there to ask.

The Jarl's court wizard, Farengar Secret-Fire, made it quite clear what was expected of her. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find an ancient tablet (which he had admitted might not even be there), and bring it back to him. Simple; except, it wasn't.

She hated the idea. _Hated_ it. Ambriana had never fancied herself one to go delving into ruins for anything, much less a Nord tomb, and _without_ an entourage, at that.

Damn that elfboy… She had hoped to gain his aid through pity. After all, she wasn't about to offer the rest of her gold to get him to go with her. She had already given him his share of the remuneration received at the keep – money she could tell he did not want to accept, but did so anyway. He had said they would speak later on the mater, but they hadn't. Good for him. If he tried to now, she would throw in his face that he had already accepted his share of the ill-begotten gold. Ha.

Down below, the bard whom called himself Mikael added to the intoxicated excitement of the bar's inhabitants with an announcement.

"This is a local favorite, and one of the first songs I ever learned. Oooooooh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Roriksteeeeead!"

A burly man in a horned helmet nearly knocked over the man beside him trying to clamor to his feet. He immediately joined in, muttering the words to the song while waving his arms about and sloshing ale everywhere.

Ambriana wasn't sure if she could sit through the entire song. She turned and headed back into the inn room just as elfboy was spreading a sheet out onto the floor. She stepped passed him and collapsed onto the bed with her arms and legs splayed.

"Why do you want me to come to Bleak Falls Barrow?"

Though Ambriana's face was smushed (yes, smushed) flat against the bed, she could feel the corners of her mouth raise. If she played this right, he would be eating out of the palm of her hand by the time the next of Mikael's songs ended.

Ambriana rolled over and sat up, putting on an air of innocence. "Faendal, haven't you ever looked at your life and thought, this isn't enough? I need something more in my life?"

"No."

"Well, this is your chance," Ambriana continued, ignoring what he said. "You can really be someone now, if you travel with me. Places like those are filled with ancient treasures and gemstones. Don't you want something to take home to Camilla, something that will really show her what a special woman she is?"

Faendal lay quiet for a long moment, thinking over her proposal.

"If you ask me, you could use some adventure in your life," Ambriana went on, admiring her nails with a smug grin. "Women love a man who's been around."

"You still haven't answered my question," Faendal said, now sitting up to look at her. Ambriana stared back at him, but she couldn't see what was behind those black eyes.

"Look, I need you, all right?" She sighed in frustration and balled her small hands into fists. "I don't know the first thing about Skyrim or its tombs. I can't even fight. You at least have that bow."

Faendal smirked and looked away. Ambriana's temper caught flame.

"What's making _you_ so smug?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to hear you say you needed me for something."

Ambriana's eyes became slits. "You bastard."


	3. Part III

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim.**_

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At Odds  
Part III

Riverwood was a small town just south of Whiterun. It was known for its lumber exports, and had a good smithy, as well. Though, it was a predominantly human town, Faendal had called it home for years now. He worked with Gerdur at the lumber mill, and went hunting in the surrounding hills and lush forests on his off days. He knew everyone in the town, and they knew him. Riverwood had become his home, and he enjoyed his lifestyle. It was simple, and it pleased him.

Why couldn't Ambriana understand that all he wanted was a peaceful life? He didn't need adventures to keep him busy. He wanted only the fine comforts of a simple life, and perhaps the companionship of a certain Imperial woman in the future.

It came as no surprise to him that the entire trip to Riverwood consisted of Ambriana begging for him to come with her to the Barrow.

"Please?" she asked, keeping up with his brisk pace. "Faendal, you are the only person I know here in Skyrim. I have no one else!"

"I'm sorry," he said, his breath jarring with every step. "You're just going to have to find someone else."

"There _is_ no one else!" she cried, near tears. "Please, I need someone to help me! I don't know how to fight – I was raised for politics and parties, not for traipsing about in some haunted ruins!"

"That sounds like a personal problem."

"Faendal, how can you be so _cruel_?"

When they entered Riverwood, she had finally dropped the subject, but did not stop pouting. Faendal waved to Alvor as he passed and headed directly for the Riverwood Trader. Though, he'd made up his mind about not going to the Barrows with the human, he definitely would make sure she was outfitted properly before heading out. He wasn't _completely_ heartless. Was he?

As he opened the door, Camilla's sweet voice met his sensitive elven ears.

"Well, _one_ of us has to do something."

"I said _no_. No adventures, no theatrics – no thief-chasing!"

Camilla placed a hand on her hip. "Well, what are you going to do then, huh? Let's hear it!"

"We are done talking about this," Lucan growled. He looked over to see Faendal in the doorway and uncrossed his arms. "Oh, Faendal. Sorry you had to hear that…"

"Were we interrupting anything?" the Bosmer asked, stepping inside. Ambriana followed behind him, arms crossed, still pouting.

"Ah, well… We did have a bit of a break-in. But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing."

"That's odd," Faendal said, resting a hand on the counter. "What'd they take?"

"It was an ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw."

Faendal nodded. "I remember it."

"Lucan won't allow me to go to Bleak Falls Barrow to get it," Camilla said from behind him. "He won't do _anything_ about it."

Faendal turned and walked closer to the Imperial woman. He took her soft, warm hand in his and knelt before her. "Camilla, it's too dangerous to go after something as silly as that. That place is haunted, and that's not to say anything about the bandits that may be lurking around the area and the traps within."

"We could get it back for you," Ambriana said from behind him.

Faendal stiffened. He had forgotten for a moment she was even there.

"You could?" Lucan asked.

The elf knew where this was going. The girl really had a way of flaring his temper, and he rarely _had_ a temper. He turned to Ambriana, whom was now smiling satisfactorily, placed a hand on her shoulder, and leaned in close. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Helping these poor people," Ambriana said, mock sincerity lacing her silvery voice.

"I will not go to Bleak Falls Barrow with you!" he whispered harshly. "Does the word _no_ mean nothing to you?"

"But Faendal, don't you want to win the heart of that buxom Imperial?" she asked. "Women don't want a man who sits there and waits for her – they want the man to take action, to seize the day and win her over."

"Ambriana-"

"-Face it, elfboy," she interrupted, "if you do nothing, she will find a man who can. It's now or never." She crossed her arms and looked at him with hardened blue eyes.

Faendal shifted his jaw to the side, trying to relax it from its tense position. He thought it over. And damn it all, Ambriana was right. He had known Camilla for years, and not once in all those years had he done anything to impress her. Sven was gaining the lead on him – he cooed her and sung songs of brave adventures and dragons. What if Faendal went on an actual adventure for Camilla? Bringing that claw back would mean so much to her. He would win her for sure.

He looked into Ambriana's icy, manipulative eyes and submitted to her with a final sigh. "All right. Let's get that claw back."

. . .

. . .

Faendal was able to strike a deal with Lucan. If he lent them two sets of hide armor for the risky adventure, they would indeed bring his claw back. He and Ambriana set off across the bridge and down the road toward Bleak Falls Barrow. That's when the talking started again.

"This armor is too loose. Why can't they custom fit armor to fit a lady? You know, strong enough for a man, but made for a woman? Hey, that'd be a catchy gimmick…"

As they crossed the bridge, a flock of birds were startled by their steps and flew away in a flutter of wings. Ambriana screamed, surprised by the sudden sound of them flapping away.

"Oh my _goodness_, I am so jumpy! I can't help it though. This Bleak Falls Barrow place sounds frightening, doesn't it? I can't wait to have this all over and done with. Once I brink the tablet back to that self-righteous wizard, my name will be cleared, and everything will be right again."

"Mmm-hm," Faendal agreed, tuning her out.

"You know, I'm actually here in Skyrim to see my mother. She remarried, again – this is her fifth marriage. Met a guy named Argner. What a gruff name. I'm glad I'm not Nord – can you imagine me being named something as silly as _Gerdur_?"

The trail winded and curved, steadily inclining. Both of them started to pant with the effort of the climb, but that didn't stop Ambriana's mouth from moving.

"It's so _cold_ today. Perhaps we should have gotten fur armor instead of this hide – would have been a lot warmer. Not to mention more fashionable. Fur is _always_ in."

The path straightened out after a while and became more rocky. They travelled steadily westward now. A tower loomed in the distance.

"Ambriana…"

"-and then she told me it was dead all along, and I thought, what? How is that possible?"

"_Ambriana_."

"Hmm?"

Faendal slowed his pace and turned to meet her gaze. "There's a tower up ahead. Could be dangerous. I want you to keep quiet and stay behind me, you hear? Maybe take that dagger out, just in case."

She gulped. "All right…"

Faendal stepped lightly over the rocks, steadily toward the tower. Snow began to feather softly down. He spotted movement as they neared – a figure walked over a short bridge that lead into the tower. He quietly took his bow from his back and notched a steel arrow.

"Faendal, I'm scared," he heard Ambriana whimper from behind him.

"Shh, just stay quiet and stay behind me," he whispered.

The figure that moved across the bridge seemed to spot them. When he saw the figure pull a great big iron warhammer from his back, Faendal knew he was definitely _not_ friendly.

Everything seemed to happen in slow-moving snippets of action. The bandit let out a warning cry and charged forward. Faendal pulled his bowstring as far back as it would go, exhaled calmly, and loosed his arrow. It tore through the air in less than a second and hit the man – _thunk!_ – right through his open maw. Faendal drew another arrow and hurried stealthily forward as the bandit dropped his weapon and brought both hands to his throat, making horrid choking sounds as he fumbled to his knees in disbelief.

He approached the stone bridge silently, moving with the grace of a lynx across the rocks and snow. Another bandit stumbled stupidly out of the tower and opened his mouth to gasp, when Faendal sent an arrow through his fur armor into his chest. Blood spurted from his mouth as he looked at the elf with accusation, then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed on the bridge.

Another bandit appeared in the threshold of the tower, but this one was ready for him. She was armored head to toe in scuffed, dented iron armor and already had her iron axe out and in the appropriate stance. Faendal had no time to reach for an arrow as the woman charged for him. He acted in a heartbeat, dropping his longbow off the side of the bridge and withdrawing his blade, bringing it up to shield his face as the axe came down at him. Their weapons met with a _clank_, and momentum brought his blade up past his head and curling in the air to come down on her. The bandit blocked with the handle of her axe and gritted her teeth as it became a power struggle.

Pain suddenly hit his leg with the force of a horse smacking into a wall. Faendal fell to one knee, still holding his blade down across the bandit's axe handle, and chanced a glance at his leg. A shabby arrow was protruding from his calf.

"Ambriana!" he growled, and then with a spurt of desperate strength, he forced the bandit backward with his sword and got to both feet again. He stumbled backward, pain shooting up his leg with every step, and readied his weapon for another strike.

The bandit charged again, the angle coming downward. Faendal swept to the side and brought his sword down between the woman's shoulder and head. The blade sunk into the flesh of her exposed neck easily, and when he pulled it back out, blood spurted across his hide armor. The bandit brought a hand to her neck and stumbled back, bright red flowing down the front of her armor. She desperately lunged at him, and Faendal had to move quick to avoid her attack. He jumped to the side and clumsily over the bridge, landing on both feet onto rock. White hot pain jolted from his leg through his body, and he cried out and fell down to one knee again. The bandit was wobbling now as she turned to look at him one last time before falling in a heap at the edge of the bridge, dead.

Faendal stayed put on one knee for what felt like an eternity before looking up to see a very remorseful Ambriana with a healing potion held out to him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Faendal said nothing, but sat on his rump on the snow covered rock and took off his glove. He placed two of the fingers of the glove in his mouth and bit down. This was going to hurt. He wrapped both hands arrow the shaft of the arrow and yanked with all his might, his muffled cry disappearing in the wind.

"I'm so sorry," Ambriana repeated, her voice cracking.

"Give me the potion," he panted. She handed it over and he gulped it down greedily. The sweet liquid pooled in his gut and spread out warmth from his stomach to the rest of his limbs. When his leg was healed, he stood and brushed himself off. He looked up at Ambriana, whose hands were balled against her chest. "Thank you for…trying to help."

"I'm so sorry," she said again, and bowed her head as a sob overtook her.

Faendal had no idea what to do. He had never dealt with a crying woman before. Feeling as though he should say something, he cleared his throat and said, "Oh, it's, um… It's fine. Accidents happen."

Ambriana let out another long, pitiful sob and leaned into him, resting her head on his chest. Faendal's inky black eyes went wide. He brought a hand up and clumsily patted her shoulder. "There, there… Everything is fine."

Ambriana struck his chest with a little fist – hardly enough to hurt, but enough to make him blink. She glared up at him, angry. "You're supposed to hug me back and forgive me!"

"Oh." Faendal hesitated, then wrapped both arms around her shoulders. She shifted so that she was leaning flat against him and snuggled her head into the crook of his arm. He released her and stepped back, unsure of what in Oblivion was going on. "Is that better?"

The Breton wiped beneath her sapphire eyes with her fingertips and blinked several times until her vision was clear. "Yes. Thank you. Now shall we continue? We have a claw and a tablet to get."


	4. Part IV

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim._**

* * *

At Odds  
Part IV

Faendal lead the way deeper into the catacombs, Ambriana bringing up the rear with her sword drawn. And yes, she was talking.

"I can't believe you let that Dunmer trick you into thinking he'd give you the claw back! I saw right through his ruse. You fell for it like a gullible child."

"Would you be _quiet_," Faendal snapped back.

The path dipped downward. Holes in the walls on either side held ancient mummified corpses. The entire place reeked of dust, mold, and death. Just ahead, the path widened into a rounded room with more corpses. Faendal could see the foot of a body on the floor. As he neared, it was apparent whose body it was – the Dunmer, Arvel, whom had took off with the claw after being cut down. Swaying over his body was a skinny armored corpse holding an ancient Nord sword. Faendal gave the creature no time to react and sent an arrow through its eye. It clamored to the floor and did not move.

"Gods, what is that thing?" Ambriana asked from somewhere behind him.

"An undead being," Faendal replied. "I think they call them draugr."

The sound of armor rubbing against armor was heard, and Faendal chanced a step further into the room to see another draugr awakening from its sleep on the left. It slowly swung its legs over, sat up, and stood, locking eyes with the elf. Two arrows ensured it moved no more.

When he was sure the coast was clear, Ambriana took the claw from the Dunmer's body, and then Faendal lead the way through the room and toward a hall. He spotted a pressure plate on the floor and looked back at Ambriana. "Step where I step."

"All right."

Faendal smirked inwardly. That was probably the first time she had agreed to do something without making a fuss. He continued on, over some fallen rocks. The hallway eventually curved to the right. He faced another open room, and this time the draugr were waiting for him.

One came from the right, a scantily clad female corpse. He sent an arrow for her head, but it missed, grazing her cheek and sending dust into the air. He reached for another arrow. This one rang true, finding a home deep within the undead creature's skull.

Two came toward him from the left. He aimed his sights at the smaller of the two and loosed his arrow. It plunged into its skull, but showed no slowing down. Faendal grabbed for another arrow and aimed for its heart. The arrow whistled through the air and into the draugr's chest. It fell over in a heap.

That left the bigger one. Faendal had no more time to shoot, so he dropped his bow and withdrew his sword.

"Ambriana, try and flank it," he said, locking eyes with the creature.

"What does that mean?"

"_Get behind him!_"

"Okay, okay, you don't need to _yell_ at me!"

The draugr lunged forward in full swing. Faendal dodged right, ending up behind the creature, and swung at its back. It looked up and saw Ambriana in front of it and let loose a gravelly growl. Ambriana screamed, dropped the sword, and promptly turned to run.

_Oh gods, what is she doing?_

Faendal swung twice in a criss-cross pattern, then did a twirl and brought the sword back down on it. The draugr was looking weaker now, but still had some fight in it. It turned and swung its sword. Faendal blocked and disarmed it before sending the tip of his blade through its chest. He placed a boot beside the blade and pushed the creature off his weapon. It fell to the floor, lifeless once again.

Ambriana poked her head around the corner and looked around. "Did you get it?"

"_Yes_, yes I did. Now would you pick up your sword and next time _use_ it?"

"Someone's grouchy…" She picked up her sword and sheathed it on her hip.

Faendal grabbed his bow and made sure he was ready before venturing on. As luck would have it, a small hallway was the only way forward, and three axe blades swung from side to side within it.

"Now, what purpose do those blades serve?" Ambriana grumbled, a hand on her hip.

"To stop people like us from going any further." Faendal looked around the threshold for a lever or a chain to pull, but there was none. Looks like he would be doing this the hard way.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he lined himself up.

"What do you think," he spat. Since when had he become so touchy? Oh, that's right. Since meeting Ambriana.

"You'll die if you go through!" she cried. "Don't leave me here alone!"

"I'll be fine." He sighed and focused on the timing of the blades. As the first one was swinging by, he hurried forward and stopped between the first and the second blade. He waited as the blades continued swinging, and when the blade in front of him was just passing, jumped forward again. From there, the last one was a breeze. A pull chain hung on the wall to his left. He pulled it, and the blades stopped. Ambriana darted through with a scream, and then stopped behind him and brushed herself off indignantly.

They continued deeper into the Barrow. The hall curved left and went down again, then turned right. The ensuing fight with the next line of draugr was so embarrassingly silly, Faendal did not want to recount it.

The path continued to curve left and right, but always downward. They went deeper and deeper, emerging from the winding halls into a tall, open room with a waterfall. An iron coffin on the other end of the fall popped open to reveal another restless draugr. Faendal sent it crashing on its face with two arrows to the chest.

They walked across the short stone bridge to the other end of the room. The doorway was caved in. They'd reached the end of the road.

"Ooh, a sapphire!" Ambriana said. Faendal turned to see her rummaging through a chest off to the side. "I wonder how much this will fetch for."

"Let's rest here, then turn back."

"What?" Ambriana looked up from her treasure. "But we haven't even reached the tablet yet."

"This is the end of the road," Faendal said. He gestured toward the caved-in doorway behind him. "We can't go further. Time to head back."

"Wait. Look at this."

Ambriana walked over to an iron gate that separated the room from a cave where the water flowed down. She tugged on the chain beside the gate, and it rolled upward into rock.

Faendal went first, as always, bow drawn. The rocks were moss-strewn and slippery, so he stepped lightly from one dry rock to the other until he came to the end. There was an opening to the right, which he took. It went up and curled out into a curved cave. The water stream bubbled on to the left. They walked on dry rock on the right until they had to cross over another waterfall, and then followed the stream to a drop off. Down below, a draugr paced. Faendal sent an arrow through its skull and continued on a path to the right. Glowing green mushrooms lit their path, which curved off down to the left and across a natural bridge. The place truly was a sight to see, with the waterfall steadily thundering on their left and the drop off down on their right.

He went forward. He follow the cave until it lead back into a section of the Barrow, where vines had taken over the floor. The path lead into a pillared room with a great wooden door with iron handles.

"You ready?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yes," came Ambriana's confident reply.

He pushed the door open, holding his breath. The doors swung wide into a wide hall. At the end was another door. He approached cautiously.

The door at the end of the hall had three small emblems in a row on top of each other and a large, circular plaque with three holes in it.

"Do you have the dragon claw?"

Ambriana rummaged through her pack and pulled out the dragon claw. "I should be the one to do it, since I'm the leader of this mission."

Faendal sighed. "Whatever your majesty wishes."

"That's more like it," Ambriana said with a smirk, then moved past him to stand in front of the door. She placed the claw into its keyhole and turned. It moved to the side a bit, then went back to its original place. The door remained still.

"Move those symbols around," Faendal suggested.

"I know what I'm doing," Ambriana snapped. She inspected the claw, then focused on the door again. She moved each emblem twice, then tried the claw again. It turned smoothly, and all the emblems aligned into owl symbols as the door slowly slid down. They climbed the stairs silently, unaware of what they would find. Bats flew into their faces and past them in a rush, eliciting a scream from Ambriana. She let the elf lead after that.

Faendal took them further on in. What awaited them was breathtaking.

A small arching stone bridge lead across to two sets of stairs on the left and the right, both leading up to a stone platform. Hugging the platform was an enormous stone wall depicting a picture Faendal could not make out. A dragon's head, perhaps?

"Do you hear that?" Ambriana said, brushing past him softly.

Faendal listened, but all he heard was the sound of the stream below them. Ambriana walked forward as if in a trance.

"Do you hear that…chanting? It sounds like chanting."

"Be careful," he said, but he could only watch as Ambriana climbed the steps, staring at the stone wall. Below the picture were strange slanted symbols – writing of some type. She walked toward the wall, and as she did, he noticed a part of the writing begin to glow.

His danger sense peaked. Something was wrong. Faendal rushed forward, his legs moving of their own accord, but he was too late. A blue, wispy light flowed into Ambriana. Her arms parted and her head fell back, eyes closed. He reached her as the light began to fade and wrapped his arms around her midsection, pulling her back and away from the wall. He stumbled, tripped over his own footing and landed hard on his hind end, bringing the human down with him. She cried out in surprise as they hit the ground.

The sound of stone breaking caused them both to crane their necks to see behind them. A tall, powerful looking draur burst from his coffin holding an enormous, ancient Nord greatsword in his hand. Faendal gasped and pushed Ambriana off him to stumble to his feet, drawing his bow and an arrow. He walked backward to put some space in between himself and the draugr lord and began firing arrow after arrow. They stuck in its armor and through its chest like a pin cushion, and didn't seem to phase it. It lumbered forward, sword raised, then stopped, inhaled, and bellowed in a dry, raspy voice, "_Fus!_"

A gust of force pushed him back against the stone wall. He staggered, regained his footing, and tried sending a few more arrows at him before having to withdraw his blade.

The draugr cornered him and raised its weapon. The greatsword crashed down on Faendal's iron blade. Frost crept from the point of impact out across the blade. When the draugr send his sword down on Faendal again, Faendal's blade broke and shattered into frozen pieces.

The elf moved quick. He rolled forward passed the draugr and behind him. Ambriana appeared at his side with her weapon drawn.

"What do I do?"

"Attack it!"

The Breton's brow wrinkled in concern. He saw her bite her bottom lip and nod. She ran forward, screaming, and pushed her sword into the draugr's stomach. Still holding the handle, she looked up at the creature and went white with terror as it grabbed the blade with its hand and pushed it further into its body.

Ambriana finally let go, stumbled backward, and turned to run. Faendal knew this was it – he would either best the creature, or he would die, and he certainly didn't want to die. He rushed forward and yanked the sword out of the draugr's stomach with a grunt, then spun and sliced it across its neck. Dust poofed out from the gash in its throat, but it still stood, glowering at him.

Out of nowhere, Ambriana charged again. She leapt onto the back of the creature and screamed at it, choking it with her arms. The draugr flailed helplessly and dropped its greatsword. Faendal seized the opportunity and slid forward on his knees, swiping the blade from the ground. It was heavy, but well balanced. He took the only stance he knew and waited until the draugr flung Ambriana from its shoulders to attack. He rushed forward with a cry and sliced downward with all his might. The draugr split half, frost clinging to the seams of the cut, and fell to the floor in two pieces. Faendal dropped the sword and turned to Ambriana.

"Are you all right?"

"No," she said.

The two stared at each other for a moment, ice blue eyes locked on his void black ones, and in a rush, their lips crashed together. Their kiss was desperate, needy. How long it had been since he'd felt the body of another woman against him, he was not sure. But it had been too long. All the excitement went directly to his pants, where his cock hardened against her leg.

They broke apart for air. Ambriana searched his eyes, his face, and put a thumb on his bottom lip. "This isn't because I like you," she whispered.

"The feeling's mutual," Faendal agreed, and kissed her again, harder. She pulled away from him.

"I can't stand you," she said.

"I hate your voice," he admitted, still holding her against him.

"I hate that smug smile."

Faendal smiled, and he made sure it was full of smug. Their lips met again, and this time his tongue found its way into her soft mouth. Her tongue wrestled for dominance, and she gripped his arms with her small hands. He submitted to her and let her take him over. His brows rose as one of her hands released him and found its way to his crotch. She squeezed the cheerful chubby before moving up to his waist, where her greedy hand worked fast to undo the front of his pants.

"I've never been with an elf before," she said, breaking away to give him a heavy, lust-filled look.

"I've never been with a human," he replied.

They kissed again, and while she brought out his cock and slowly began to stroke it, he worked to undo her armor. Once the armor was off, he ripped off her undershirt – literally _ripped_ it off – and her breasts bounced out to greet him. His hands reached for the two gorgeous mounds, his thumbs finding their way to her nipples, and he thumbed them roughly, listening to her moan as he did it.

She let go of his penis to take off his armor, and a cold draft met his flesh. He tried to ignore it and focus solely on her breasts. They were decent sized – not as big as Camilla's, but big enough to suit him. They were incredibly soft. He leaned forward and hungrily bit into the side of her right breast, and she cried out in a mixture of pain, surprise, and pleasure. He felt her small fingers in his hair and she yanked out the raw hide thong that kept his hair up and grabbed a fistful of it, pushing his face harder into her breast. His cock throbbed with glee.

Once his armor was removed, Ambriana only had to pull off his pants for him to be completely exposed. Faendal didn't like those odds. While tonguing her nipple, he undid her pants and peeled them off, one leg at a time. He focused full attention on her breasts again, squeezing and kneading, licking and sucking, while she took off his pants and took his penis in her hand. Her moans were driving him crazy.

After being satisfied that her breasts had had enough attention, he stood straight and pulled away from her for a moment. A slight pout made its way across her full lips.

"Are you sure you can live with bedding me?"

"Depends," she said, shrugging, her breasts bouncing slightly with the movement. "Could you live with this, even with your situation with Camilla?"

His heart tensed. Could he? Would he be able to look Camilla in the eye after this and tell her he loved her?

His penis twitched, as if to say, _No, don't ruin this for me!_

Ambriana frowned and crossed her bare arms over her breasts. "If you won't take me, I'll just have to take you." She glared daggers at him. "I get what I want."

Faendal couldn't help but feel flattered. "You want me, even after all you've said about me?"

She stepped forward and lightly stroked his penis. "Doesn't that make it more fun, though?" she whispered, then sneakily ran a tongue up the length of his pointed ear. His body shuttered at the action, and his cock stood at attention in her hand. "Good boy," she said, and then carefully lowered herself onto her knees in front of him.

With her hand at the base of his member, she kissed the tip, then lightly licked it. Faendal's toes curled. It had been a long time since he had bedded another woman, but it had been a _really_ long time since he'd had a treat like this.

Ambriana gave the head one final fleck of her tongue before taking him into her mouth. She found a good rhythm and stuck to it, her head bobbing. Faendal threw his head back and moaned. Her mouth was so small and incredibly warm. Already, he was close.

"I'm going to spend," he warned in a breathy groan, and just as he came, she popped it out her mouth and closed her eyes, letting his seed spill over her beautiful face.

While he took this moment to catch his breath, Ambriana grabbed for her smallclothes and wiped her face clean. She then looked at him with a predatory groan. "I'm not done with you."

Divines help him, he didn't _want_ her to be. He wanted to say, forget Camilla, the stuck-up Imperial bitch. She had swatted down his advances for far too long for Sven. Shouldn't he be entitled to a beautiful woman whom was more than willing to take him? Faendal thought so. And he also thought he shouldn't feel the least bit bad about it. It was her loss, not his.

Ambriana sat on the edge of the coffin and brought her feet up to the rim, exposing herself fully to him. With a curling finger, she beckoned him to her, and he felt compelled to obey. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and kissed him, long and deep, then pushed his head down between her legs and put her head back.

Faendal let her control his head as he put his mouth over her. The bittersweet smell of her sex invaded his senses, making his head spin. She pushed him down harder, and he brought two fingers to her and slid them inside. She was warm and tight and wet, begging for his cock, which he felt swelling back to its maximum length again between his legs.

He rolled her clit on the tip of his tongue, gently tonguing it and suckling on it like a little pearl, and found a steady rhythm for his hand, in and out. Her moans became louder and her breathing quickened, and when she came, she buried his face into her, and he grinned all the while. He'd never had such a hot encounter with another woman before.

"Are you ready for me?" she asked, pushing him down flat onto the stone floor and climbing atop of him.

"Yes," he growled.

She gave him a wicked smirk, took his member in her hand, and slowly lowered herself onto him. His cock sheathed into her warmth, and almost of their own accord, his hips started bucking.

"Ah-ah," she warned, slapping his chest with the palm of her small hand. "I'm the leader this time."

He relaxed as she began to move her hips back and forth, finding a good pace to move to. Her moans filled the cavernous chamber, echoing off the walls. He put his hands on her small hips and encouraged her movement, groaning with every rock back and forth. He reached up and found one of those soft, amazing breasts and gave it a gentle squeeze. Already, he could feel himself reaching closer to his climax. This girl was something else.

She rocked faster and faster, grinding him, moaning his name. When she came, she cried out, her walls convulsing, and her own climax caused him to reach his, and he slammed her down on his cock over and over until he couldn't stand the feeling anymore.

Ambriana collapsed on his chest, breathing hard against him. He ran his fingers through her hair affectionately.

"I still find you repulsive," she mumbled into his chest.

"And I you," he said, bringing her face closer to his for a kiss.


End file.
